Against The Tides
by RowlingTribute91
Summary: After the Quarter Quell is announced, Mags decides to record the story of her victory. The 11th annual Hunger Games were just as cruel as any other. Especially when Mags was paired with a boy she knew well- and might have loved.
1. Chapter 1

It's as if my heart has stopped beating. I can't process this. Over sixty years ago, I won the Hunger Games, and now, my name's going back into that terrible bowl.

I've tried so hard not to dwell on the past, because if I do, I'll never stop crying. But maybe it would be good to get it all down on paper.

Let's start with reaping day…

* * *

"Look at the size of this thing!" Thea said. She had just caught a gigantic fish. So of course, she wanted to show off. We fished to provide for our families and the rest of Panem, but I hadn't snagged anything that huge in all my sixteen years of life.

"Lucky," I muttered.

She grinned, stretching out the freckles on her cheeks. "We're not in some kind of competition here. Don't worry. You're gonna get a big one someday."

I merely rolled my eyes as she placed the fish in her bucket.

"Today's not the day to be all perky," I said.

"It's the only way I know how to get through it," Thea admitted. She attempted to retie her bob of brunette hair, but it wouldn't hold. "And I try to remember what it was like… you know… before there was such a thing as the Hunger Games."

"We were practically babies," I replied.

My mother had been killed by a tidal wave during the awful storms that tore North America apart. I was only two years old. According to my father, District 4 used to be called California, and where I lived was once a booming city called San Francisco. I could still see evidence of it in the old billboards and marquees that survived; the remains of a bright, red bridge in the water.

A siren began to blare. That meant we had to leave our work and prepare for the reaping. How had time gone by so quickly?

Thea and I exchanged anxious looks.

"Good luck," she said to me.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," I replied, holding back tears. Like every year, we separated with the three-finger salute. But something about this reaping felt different.

I went home to get dressed. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a girl in a washed-out blue dress. Sandy-brown hair fell to her elbows, and she had a diamond-shaped face. I liked to think I was pretty. The thing I liked most about me was my jade green eyes. I pulled my hair into a bun, and my dad came to stand behind me.

"You look so much like your mother, Mags," he said.

I hugged him in response. He always smelled of fish, regardless of how much he showered, but unlike most people, I loved the scent. Probably because he was the only family I had.

District 4 is quite large, and we always held the reapings in a place formerly known as Los Angeles. My dad didn't say anything as we headed outside to board a train. He hardly spoke at all most days.

There were thousands of teens waiting when I took my place with the other sixteen-year old girls. Thea and I held hands, facing the Justice Building. Claudia Vanderwall, District 4's escort, approached the microphone moments later. She towered over most. Maybe that was just because of her high heels, but I was a bit more distracted by her teal-colored hair.

"Good afternoon, District 4!" she cheered. "It's that time of year again; Time for one girl and one boy to come forward and represent you all in the 11th annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

She walked over to the bowl of girl names first. When she returned to the microphone, I held my breath. Whoever the tributes were, they were probably going to be people I knew. I wasn't so worried about myself.

As it turned out, I didn't have to be.

Claudia opened up the slip of paper.

"And your female tribute," she said, "is… Thea Chamberlain."

I tried to speak, but my throat closed. Thea was just as heartbroken as she hobbled up the line to meet the Peacekeepers. She couldn't hide the sobs that issued from her chest.

It wasn't until she was at the front that I found my voice.

"What?" I croaked. "What?! No!"

Then, without thinking, I uttered four deadly words:

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Thea burst into screams instantly. I ran up the line to calm her down, but she wouldn't listen to anything I said.

"You can't do this, Mags," she begged. "I won't let you do it!"

The Peacekeepers kept prodding me to follow them.

"I told you I'd do anything for you," I told Thea as they grabbed hold of me. "I meant it."

She finally seemed to relent, even if it pained her to do so. Her expression softened.

"I'll see you inside," she assured me.

As I walked onstage to greet Claudia, I could see my dad in the crowd, hanging his head, and I was struck with guilt. He had lost most of his family before I was even born. How would he cope if I died?

I clearly hadn't thought this through, but I was desperate. No way would I let Thea get killed.

"Hello, there, sweetheart," Claudia said, grinning widely. "Will you tell us your name?" She swayed the microphone in my direction.

"Mags Wader," I replied.

"We wish you the best in the arena, Miss Wader! Now for the boys."

I rang my hands anxiously, while Claudia picked out the name of my district partner. This could make all the difference. Maybe this guy would be the one to end my life. It had happened more than once; tributes killing their district partners.

Claudia cleared her throat and read the slip: "Your male tribute is… Tristan Chamberlain."

My mouth fell open at his name. Thea's older brother. After all the years I'd spent being friends with Thea, I'd started to see Tristan as my brother, too. I was an only child. But I couldn't save both of them.

No boy came to Tristan's rescue. His mouth formed a straight line as he strolled forward, yet there was also an air of confidence in his demeanor.

_Good_, I thought. I already knew he had a better chance of winning than me.

"District 4," Claudia announced, "give it up for your tributes!"

She had the biggest smile out of everyone in the audience. I didn't care how rich people in the Capitol were. How could they not understand that wanting to watch people die was totally, unbearably _sick_?

It sounded to me as if _their _citizens were the ones who should've been reaped.

Inside the Justice Building, I rubbed my arms nervously. I had to start thinking of my strengths, and what weaknesses I needed to improve on. This was my life at stake, after all. I had the most experience with knots and fishing. A knife or trident would probably be my best weapon.

Thea burst through the doors.

"How could you?" she demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I spat. "I just saved your life!"

Thea's eyes were pouring out tears, which she kept wiping away. "But now _you're_ the one who's dying… This is so unfair."

"It's the Hunger Games," I reminded her. "_Fair_ is the last word I'd use to describe them. And we can't change their minds."

"Maybe you can."

I merely brought Thea into a hug, refusing to let her go.

"Don't you dare stop taking care of yourself," I said.

She nodded. "And I know you'll be good to Tristan."

"Of course."

We put our arms around each other again, but there would never be enough time to really say goodbye. I had just stopped crying when my father came to see me.

"I love you, Magpie," was the first thing he said.

"You _had_ to use my old nickname," I replied in a bittersweet tone.

He kissed the top of my head gently. "Your mother would've been proud of what you just did."

"Thanks. I love you, Dad."

"You can win this," he said. "I know you can. Just remember that when you're feeling awful in the arena."

"I will."

Even though the Games wouldn't be for another two weeks, I was already about to vomit from nerves; and as our train left District 4 behind, it finally hit me:

_I'm going to die soon. _

But no way would I give up. That much, I knew for sure.

I'd fight till my last breath.


	2. Chapter 2

I spent about three hours admiring everything that the train had to offer. When I had my fill, I met up with Claudia, Tristan, and our mentors.

Nolan Hemsworth and Isabelle Pace were District 4's only victors thus far. Nolan had won the 5th Games. Isabelle… she was special. Eleven years ago, she battled fearlessly to become the first victor in the history of Panem.

"Mags Wader," Nolan said as I walked into their car. "There you are. I thought you might've jumped off the train." He chuckled.

Isabelle rose from her seat to greet me. "Don't mind him. He's not… all there."

"I could tell," I replied quietly, nodding.

In Capitol ads, Isabelle was the picture of Panem royalty. Away from the Capitol, she was just another citizen of District 4. She hadn't bothered putting on makeup. She wore baggy pants, rubber boots, and a button-up shirt. The typical fisherman's outfit. Isabelle's blonde, pixie haircut had sparked a trend in the Capitol, but she'd refused to style it for the reaping. I admired how unkempt, undeterred she looked. Tristan had taken the chair across from her.

"So," Nolan said, "you both know tonight's just going to be the parade. We get down to business tomorrow morning. Tristan will work with me, and Isabelle will work with you, Mags."

"For right now," Isabelle added, "we want you to start devising your tribute strategies. It makes all the difference."

She covered her mouth, stifling a yawn. "I think a nap is in order. Come on, Nolan. Let's give them some room to think."

"Allrighty," he agreed. When he thought I wasn't looking, he picked a crumb out of his Mohawk-styled hair. He tossed it into his mouth.

Nolan and Isabelle made their exit, but as they left, I heard Nolan mutter, "Happy Hunger Games."

I fell onto one of the couches, basking in relief.

"That was a really brave move, Mags. Volunteering, I mean." Tristan had plopped down beside me.

"Thea hates me for it," I argued, sniffling.

"No, she doesn't," he insisted. "She took it about as well as anybody in her situation would."

"I guess so."

Then I felt Tristan's arm wrap around my shoulders. I didn't shrug him off. We'd embraced many times before, so it wasn't much of a surprise.

"Aw!" Claudia gushed. "You two would make a cute couple."

I'd forgotten she was still in the room.

"Can you give Tristan and me some time alone?" I asked her. "Please? You can hassle me for however long you want, but only when we're in the Capitol."

Claudia grimaced, as if she knew my pain. "Say no more, dear."

"Thank you."

She made her exit, and Tristan avoided my eyes. He chose not to bring up Claudia's comment about us, which left me conflicted. Was he in love with me? In our current state, I wouldn't have been able to handle the answer.

We sat in silence, watching the other reapings onscreen, and the Capitol came into view. I wished I could've seen this place under better circumstances. The Rocky Mountains provided a spectacular backdrop to all the sparkling, towering structures. It wasn't as big as it is nowadays, but I'll keep that memory locked in my heart forever. Funny how you tend to appreciate things more when you think you don't have much time left.

I was taken to my prep team the minute we left the train. Raven, a dark-skinned woman with an afro and dozens of piercings, took care of washing and waxing me. Then she sent me to Bick, a squat, dwarfish man. He gave me a haircut, manicure, and pedicure. Raven returned later for my makeup.

Afterwards, I met our designer, Zara. What drew me to her first was a square-shaped tattoo on her wrist. In its left corner, I saw a blue box with white stars inside it. The rest of it was red and white stripes.

I may have been born into Panem, but I knew that symbol. The flag of the United States of America.

"You're from the fishing district," Zara began, "so I thought about costumes that revolved around water or sailing. Then it came to me: Pirates! I mean, who doesn't love a good pirate adventure? So that's what you two will be dressed as tonight."

_Well,_ I thought,_ it could be worse. _We could've been forced to wear fishnets. And I mean, _just_ fishnets. They always seemed to use that costume for our district.

* * *

My knee- high boots squeaked as I entered the chariot room. I could barely talk with the corset I wore, and it brought too much attention to my… girl parts. At least I was covered by the baggy dress underneath it. Raven had tied a matching rag around my head, keeping my hair down. For the final touch, a patch blinded me in one eye, and a fake sword was strapped to my dress.

Tristan looked almost identical to me except for his vest and pants. He punched his fist through the air. "Man, I feel so bad-ass! I always wanted to be a pirate."

"Weren't you a pirate for Halloween, like, every year?" I teased.

"Not _every_ year," he insisted.

Nolan and Isabelle stood by our chariot, dressed in extravagant Capitol garb.

"Pull out those swords," Isabelle said happily. "It looks more intimidating if you hold them out for the audience."

When the time came for Tristan and I to ride into the Remake Center, we stood back-to-back, raising our swords high.

We weren't pirates. We were soldiers, and the battle had just begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Isabelle advised me for an hour after breakfast the next day, rattling off tip after tip without pause. I could hardly keep up with her pace. I guess the Games made her a wee bit… Mmm-How do I say this politely? Oh- skittish.

"… and so it's very important to-"

"Isabelle!" I exclaimed. "I'm gonna be late for training if we don't stop now."

Isabelle waved at me frantically. "No, just give me another minute-"

"I don't have time!" I had a childish urge to stop my foot. "They're expecting me any second."

I headed out of the suite to the elevator, while Isabelle ran behind me. Luckily, I'd put on my training clothes before our meeting.

"Sorry," I yelled over my shoulder.

Tristan met me at the door to the training center, and we walked in together, like we'd planned. As a team.

"Let's find allies, shall we?" he asked.

I nodded, grinning. "We shall."

Over the days of training, I tried out every station and spoke to most of the other tributes. The ones from Districts 1 and 2 were incredible with their chosen weapons. A little _too_ incredible. It became obvious that they'd trained somewhat previously to the reaping.

_Unfair, much? _I thought. But I wanted them on my side. Otherwise…

Yeah. You know how those tributes are.

Three days before I was due to enter the arena, I lined up with the others. Exhibitions were under way.

"You go in there and teach those Gamemakers a thing or two," Tristan said when my time came. "They won't know what hit them." For the slightest second, he placed his hand on mine.

"Thanks," I muttered. "Good luck to you, too."

Most girls would've blushed at a guy touching her hand, but I wasn't one of them. If I started to like Tristan- I mean, more than I already did- that wouldn't end well. I _had_ to push him from my mind.

Inside the exhibition room, there were many objects to use. I set my eyes on a bundle of ropes. When I'd gathered them in my arms, I strolled towards the Gamemaker's box. Bertie Collins, who'd been Head Gamemaker over the past five years, sat in front.

Bertie Collins flashed me a smile, rubbing his pudgy belly.

"Show us what you've got!" he said.

Piece by piece, I uncoiled each rope and knotted them together. The end result was a net. I didn't even break a sweat. Making traps was child's play to me (I'm a born and bred fisher, remember). It definitely boosted my confidence, though. When I proved that it could work- by rolling a hundred-pound weight on top of the net and pulling a rope to lift it- the Gamemakers dismissed me.

Our scores were announced on the TV that night, and our entire team sat together to watch it.

"Now for District Four," the newsman said. "Tristan Chamberlain: 8."

I joined everyone in cheering.

"Awesome," I said to Tristan, nudging him with my elbow. "What did you do?"

"I did my infamous dirt camouflage trick… you know, the one I used to scare you before." He winked at me.

"You're still not off the hook for giving me a heart attack," I teased. "How was I supposed to know you could make yourself blend in with a tree?"

Isabelle and Nolan shushed me so that we could hear my score. I closed my eyes, too nervous to look at the screen.

"Mags Wader: 10."

Every jaw in the room dropped.

"You matched scores with District 1 and District 2!" Isabelle exclaimed. "Mags, I think you just put yourself at great odds to win this."

To say I couldn't speak was an understatement.

"W-wow." Nobody had ever achieved higher than a 10 (and nobody ever would until Katniss Everdeen was tribute).

Instantly, my state of mind changed. Maybe I'd underestimated my own abilities. Maybe, just maybe, I would survive.

Maybe District 4 would get a new victor this year.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note from me: Surprise! Extra chapter this weekend! Please leave reviews :)**

I'd never given much thought to the tribute interviews before. Until I found myself being prepped for one. My stomach swirled, but not because of the interview.

Zara had made me a mermaid-style dress (_Didn't see that coming_, I thought sarcastically). It shimmered in various shades of blue, green and brown, flowing to my ankles. Raven curled my hair and twisted it into a messy bun. As for Tristan, his suit featured the same colors, while his usually untamed, wavy, dark hair had been slicked back.

Thea would've killed me for saying it, but her brother couldn't have been more handsome.

As we waited for interviewing to start, the girl from District 1 tapped me on the shoulder.

"Your name is Mags, right?" she asked. "I love that dress on you! Oh, and if you forgot, I'm Whitney."

Whitney, a petite blonde, wore a knee-length, strapless dress, covered in brown fur. She wore it so well that I had to wonder if she did any modeling.

"Thanks, Whitney," I replied.

Gemma, the girl from District 2, said, "I agree with her. I wish I could wear that."

The girl from District 3 nodded, and they all offered me smiles. I returned the smile genuinely. We had less than twelve hours before we transformed from teenage girls to killers, so I relished any moment to act normal with other girls my age. Something as simple as complimenting each other's dresses? I only _wished_ tomorrow would be that easy. Tomorrow held unknown terrors.

The interview host was Wendy Harlequin. I guessed she could've been around fifty years old, but she hadn't aged much in the past eleven years (Just think of her as the original Caesar Flickerman). Wendy dyed her hair differently for every appearance, and at the moment, it was minty green.

After Whitney, Gemma, their district partners, and District 3 were finished with their interviews, I stood in the wings offstage.

"From District Four," Wendy Harlequin announced, "give a warm welcome to Mags Wader!"

_You never get a second chance to make a first impression_, I reminded myself. I couldn't look nervous. No tribute who earned a 10 should look nervous. But I didn't want to be cocky. So instead, I went for a humble, girl-next-door image. That really _is_ me, in a nutshell.

"First, congratulations on getting a 10 for your exhibition," Wendy said as I sat down. "Were you surprised?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I would've been happy with a 7, but I guess I impressed them a lot. Didn't know I had it in me." Giggles came out of my mouth, and the audience began laughing with me.

"Can you tell us what you did to wow the Gamemakers?"

"I don't know if I should…" I flashed a devious smile. "But I _can_ say that you don't want to cross me. I will kill anybody that tries to attack me." I meant it, too. What else would I do? Let somebody kill me? Definitely not.

Wendy raised her eyebrows at the audience. "This girl means business!"

To that, the Capitol people gave a hearty round of applause.

"There's something else I've been dying to know," Wendy continued. "Your district partner, Tristan; he's the brother of the girl you volunteered for, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"What's your relationship with him? Is he… that special someone?"

Every pair of eyes was trained on me, desperate to drink in some Hunger Games gossip.

_She had to go there_, I thought. "Um… not exactly."

"What do you mean, Mags?"

"Well… we're pretty close friends-"

"Ah," Wendy commented, nodding to herself. "The best-friend's-brother dilemma. Let's be honest; woman to woman; I'd bet my whole wardrobe that he's in love with you. So why not make a move, girl?"

If I could've seen myself in a mirror, I'm sure my cheeks would be as pink as a newborn baby's skin.

"All I know for sure," I replied, "is that I care about Tristan a lot, and I'll never lay a finger on him in the arena."

"Even if you were the last two tributes left?"

"Yeah," I said instantly.

Everybody joined in a chorus of "Aaawww!"

"Thank you for your time, Miss Wader," Wendy said, "and may the odds be ever in your favor."

If I had to speak to that woman again, it would be too soon, I decided.

* * *

I went up to the fourth floor with Tristan that night, the interview still ringing in my ears. Neither of us talked. We stared at each other awkwardly.

It was I who broke the silence.

"What Wendy asked me about you… that was kinda embarrassing. Sorry you had to hear that."

"It's done," Tristan said. "Water over the bridge. She can think what she wants, but we know the truth. You said some nice things about me. I wouldn't ever try to hurt you, either."

He'd said that in his interview, too, but when he told me this, face to face, it reassured me that our friendship wouldn't be tainted by the Games. No betrayals for us.

"Thanks, Tris."

Even so, I felt sweat forming as we hugged goodbye, and I held him a little tighter than normal. I wondered what kind of tribute Tristan would become. What kind of tribute I'd become.

No victor escapes the arena with their sanity intact.

I felt like a zombie the next morning; not dead, yet barely alive. I even dressed incorrectly. My sweatpants went on backwards, my shirt was inside-out, and I forgot to put on a sock.

"Let me help," Isabelle offered when she came to see me.

"No," I muttered. "I'm changing as soon as I leave here. Doesn't matter."

Isabelle wasn't deterred. "Listen to me, Mags; it _does_ matter! You're still promoting your own image when you walk out the door."

"Okay. Help me, then."

Like a good older sister would, Isabelle didn't complain, and I looked much more presentable as we strolled to the hovercraft hangar.

"One last thing," she said; "Don't forget who you are."

"Never," I answered, moving closer to hug her, and she hugged me back. I found it extremely hard to let go.

Now, as I write this, I think Isabelle was passing a torch to me, victor to victor. Neither of us knew I'd win yet, of course (and thank goodness she won't have to endure the Quarter Quell- she died ten years ago).

My arena uniform didn't give much away as far as climate; it was a t-shirt, cargo pants, boots, and a windbreaker jacket. But I could at least deduce that this place wouldn't be frozen tundra.

Zara pulled my hair into a ponytail, and her blue eyes met mine. A stray tear trickled past her cheek.

"Well, Mags," she said, "you've been wonderful. Kick that arena's ass!"

I stretched out my lips in a smile. "I'll do my best. Thank you, Zara."

I was still half-asleep while my tracker was injected (though it stung horribly); still half-asleep in my launch tube.

_It's just a bad dream, _I kept telling myself.

When I came out of the darkness, I got my first look at the arena. Instead of wilderness surrounding me, I saw… an abandoned city. There were plenty of tall, imposing buildings. Some of them could make good hiding places, but some of them had to be booby-trapped, I was sure. On further inspection, I discovered trees in the distance.

I almost didn't find the Cornucopia. That is, until my eyes scanned upwards. Our Cornucopia rested at the top of a skyscraper. Oh, goody. Getting stuck in an elevator with murderous kids would be fun. Not.

The countdown reached its final ten seconds.

_Ten… nine… eight-_

_BOOM. _

Blood. Flying onto me from the right. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw the girl from District 9. Or… what remained of her, lying dead on the ground. She'd left her platform way too soon. Must have forgotten about the bombs planted underneath us. I tried to play it calm, but really. There was no calm in my life anymore.

_-five… four… three… two… one._

_BONG._

If nothing else would awaken me from my stupor, _that_ certainly did the trick.

The strongest, my dad would say, are the ones who fight against the tides. They take anything life throws at them.

_Then bring on the waves, _I thought.


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't think. I just ran. If I was fast enough, I could get to the elevator door first and go up by myself.

No such luck.

Others gained momentum ahead of me, but I still managed to fit inside it as the doors closed and we were packed together like a pack of sardines. Difficult to fit so many people in a small elevator. Even more frightening to find that the car was transparent. Probably made of glass. As if I'd needed another reason to be scared. This thing could break into a million pieces.

I stood on the balls of my feet to look over the shoulder of a girl tribute, through the window. Outside, I saw some tributes scampering around, looking for places to hide. They probably planned on coming up here later. They'd have to, eventually. I couldn't find Tristan.

We had no weapons, but that didn't mean we couldn't use our hands. Ryder, the district 2 boy, grabbed the tribute nearest him and bashed her head against the wall. Over. And over. More blood spattered onto my shoes.

_Please let the doors open_, I thought desperately.

Precious seconds passed before my wish was granted. Everybody pushed to get out of the elevator first, but some tripped as they left. They became the first victims of Gemma and Shawn, the district 1 boy. They hadn't even touched a weapon yet, but they beat two tributes to a pulp. Others sprinted for supplies inside the Cornucopia. Whitney and Ryder chased them out, throwing knives at whoever they could get to. Three tributes fell. Completely and utterly helpless. While Whitney and Ryder were busy finishing them off, I fled into the Cornucopia.

Bags and weapons were littered everywhere, but I knew exactly what I needed. Getting a bag was my first priority. I threw one onto my back; then, I grabbed a few knives. I slipped them into my pockets. Large enough to hide, and perfect for defending myself in a surprise attack. From the wall, I picked a trident and crossbow. For now, I slung the crossbow on my shoulders. I'd use it more later, for hunting food and long-distance attacks. I had my trident at the ready as I left the Cornucopia, hoping to see Tristan.

Still no sign of him. I circled around the back of the Cornucopia, and when I felt safe, I squatted to watch the action. No, it didn't please me to see people dying. I just wanted to know Tristan was okay.

"Mags," I heard someone whisper. He'd caught up to me, carrying a backpack and a spear.

"Can't stay here," he continued. "They'll find us."

"I know."

"Then let's go," Tristan urged.

Our voices sounded muffled. Then it dawned on me: I couldn't hear out of my right ear anymore. The bomb had been too close. Not even five minutes into the Games, and I was half-deaf.

Back in the midst of the bloodbath, one boy had his back turned to everyone else. Even worse; he stood near the edge of the building. I saw Gemma creep towards the tribute. I felt like warning him, but… I had to think of myself from this point on. Gemma gave him a powerful shove, and gravity drove him down, hard, off of the building, onto the pavement.

I grabbed Tristan's hand, and we took small, soft steps towards the elevator. Just as we were about to board, a girl tribute ran at me with a knife. I swung my trident to knock the knife out of her hand. Now that she was defenseless, I clubbed her in the head, rendering her unconscious.

Then came the hard part. The kill. But I did it.

I plunged the trident into her body, once, twice, three times. After that, she had no pulse.

Almost simultaneously, Tristan threw his spear, full force, at a boy who was heading our way, and it went straight through the boy's back.

We weren't attacked again, and everything seemed to be slowing down a bit. The bloodbath must've ended. But four other tributes were standing among the dead and staring in our direction, as if trying to decide what to do with us. Ryder, Whitney, Gemma, and Shawn.

Tristan pressed the elevator button, and I kept muttering, "Hurry… come on…"

"Wait!" I heard someone call. A voice I hadn't heard much in training. I did a one-eighty to see who it was. Shawn.

"That was some work you just did, District 4," he said. "Do you wanna be allies? The six of us?" He pointed from himself to Whitney and the District 2 tributes.

Tristan and I nodded. If it kept us alive longer, I was game for anything. Ryder didn't look so keen on it, but he refused to utter a word against the idea.

Since this was before hovercars brought in the bodies, the dead tributes were littered all along the roof, and they would stay there until the Games finished. A horrible stench already swam through my nose. I shuddered. The smells were bound to get more and more putrid with time.

"We're gonna make camp somewhere," Gemma said, "so take anything you can carry, and we'll head out."

"All right," I replied. My backpack didn't have much, but after a second trip into the Cornucopia, I'd filled it to the brim with ropes, a bag of rolls, packs of sunflower seeds, and a few more knives.

"Time to go," Ryder demanded. "Boys in the front, girls behind us."

Whitney moved to my right side. "Typical man, not letting ladies go first," she whispered to me. I could see Tristan frowning. _He_ was no typical man. He'd always been chivalrous to every woman in his life, and- I thought with a twinge of envy- every girl he'd dated.

_No, wait_, I thought to myself. _You're not jealous._ _No. Just… no. He's your __friend__. _

But try telling that to my fluttering stomach.

The girl Ryder had killed first was still lying in the elevator. Ryder himself pulled her body out and dragged her onto the roof, like a piece of meat. I remembered that she was from District 11. Couldn't have been older than thirteen years old.

My allies and I rode down to ground level, where the arena opened up in all directions. We spent the entire day exploring this vast urban setting. In contrast, the forest was the size of a footprint. Not a single tribute could be found.

"They're being smart, wherever they're hiding," Gemma admitted, "but it won't last for long. They'll have to come out and get food eventually, and when they do, they're guaranteed to do something stupid to attract our attention. In that case, they'll get to meet my little friends." She touched the knife in her hand, gently moving a finger along its blade.

Late at night, we sought refuge inside what used to be a hospital. Most of the roof was gone, providing us with a skylight. A sign on the wall of our hideout said, "Intensive Care Unit". This must've been the area for people with major injuries and illnesses. It made me wonder what might become the cause of my death. Would I catch some fatal rash? Would Whitney slit my throat as I slept? Fear had me on pins and needles.

"You okay?" Tristan asked me. We laid down our bags next to each other. They would be comfortable enough to sleep on.

I grimaced, shrugging. "You?"

"As good as can be expected."

"Yup." I brushed my hand on his cheek. "Try to sleep."

"I will," he said, touching my cheek in return.

Panem's anthem boomed through the arena, and we all looked up to see the faces of the fallen. Ten people in all had died today. Most districts lost one tribute, but District 8 lost both of theirs. Seeing the face and name of the District 8 girl twisted my insides.

I'd killed her.

April Lasseter was her name. April never wanted to hurt anybody; she'd told me so in training. She must've been delirious when she attacked me. Survival can make you desperate.

My district, District 1, and District 2, were the only districts without casualties. As long as I didn't get on the bad side of my allies, I figured, I'd last for quite a while. It took a lot to make me angry, and I wasn't known for angering others. But I needed to be careful.

As sleep came over me, I had a nauseating feeling that I'd just made a deal with the devil.


	6. Chapter 6

Only one thought sprung to mind as I awoke:

I was a murderer. A legit murderer with blood staining her clothes.

My allies and I traded food around for breakfast. We'd all brought something from the Cornucopia, enough to hold us over for days, probably. One reason to be grateful this morning.

Whitney merely sat and watched while we ate.

"Want some bread?" I asked her.

"No. I'm not hungry."

"But you need to eat-"

"Stop acting like my mother!" she spat. "I eat at weird times. Plus, I'm trying to help us ration. I'd rather have some water." She opened her bottle and drank, but she'd reached the end of her supply. "We need more."

Ryder clapped his hands. "You know what? We'll break up into pairs." He produced a bucket from his bag and said, "Two of us will either be filling this bucket with water or guarding our supplies."

"Two others will find more food. And the other two" -he grinned- "will hunt tributes. We can meet back here before nightfall."

"Mags and I will do the water," Tristan said automatically. I didn't show a reaction, but inside, I was sighing, relieved.

Gemma and Whitney volunteered to get food. That left Ryder and Shawn to kill. Figures.

"I've got another bucket," Shawn offered, handing it to me. I nodded, and the other tributes moved out.

I decided to let Tristan get water first. He kept looking back at me as he vanished from view, carrying his spear, bucket and backpack. I never took my eyes off of him the whole time. Depending on what he encountered, he might not be returning.

We hadn't parted ways properly.

_It's a short trip from here to the pond,_ I reminded myself. _He'll be back alive before you know it. _

I clutched my crossbow more firmly, circling the area like a vulture, and I set up a clear string across our headquarters. Nobody would make it past without tripping.

Whenever I got tired of standing, I'd sit down with my back against a supply box. That eliminated one possible angle of attack. An hour passed.

Footsteps suddenly ricocheted along the walls. They grew louder. Louder still. I raised the crossbow, prepared to shoot at-

"Tristan!"

His arms enveloped me before I had time to slap him.

"I forgive you," he teased, ruffling my hair.

"Don't you dare joke at a time like this." But my anger melted just as quickly, erased by Tristan's comfort.

"I'm sorry, Maggie. No more jokes." His hands gently grasped the base of my neck, and his hazel eyes stared into mine. I was hypnotized. "Be careful getting water out there," he said.

Definitely more than a friendly gesture. If we hadn't been tributes… I would've kissed him.

As I exited the hospital, confidence grew within me. Using my best memory, I moved from the city to a pond in the forest, where we'd filled our water bottles the other day. I got halfway in when I found something glistening amongst the trees. It could've been some kind of trap. But looking closer, I noticed it was water. I'd successfully navigated my way back!

My happiness was short-lived. I couldn't waste time being proud of myself here. That bucket, when filled, was probably fifty pounds. I struggled for hours to heft it back, all while holding my trident.

I nearly whooped with joy when I (finally!) stepped into the safety of the hospital.

"Guess who didn't spill her bucket?" I bragged to Tristan. "This girl!"

"And she didn't hurt herself," he added, beaming.

I shook my head. "She did not!"

For the next hour or so, we laughed and shared past memories. It was the only thing that could bring a smile to our faces. A dark, sinister future lurked just around the corner. The anticipation of what might come… it was worse than being forced to die.

By late afternoon, we held our breath, anticipating some sort of obstacle, courtesy of the Gamemakers.

Then we heard a cannon.

"Do you think it was one of them?" I asked Tristan.

"Doubt it."

As he predicted, all of our allies returned to the hospital, bruised and cut, but unhindered. Tristan was quick to interrogate them.

"Did any of you kill that last tribute who died?"

Everybody shook their heads, which surprised me.

Ryder scowled. "I almost had one guy, but I lost track of him."

"Somebody got killed by a booby trap," Shawn explained. "Knocked a whole building down. We saw it happen."

That somebody, I found out at night, was the District 10 girl. Nobody else had died today. I should've been relieved, but this meant we had more long, torturous days ahead. The air grew chilly while I lay down to sleep. My teeth started chattering loudly.

"Are you cold?" Tristan asked.

"A little."

I inched closer, and he opened his arms for me. I adjusted myself to fit against him. He gave me his blanket, but I insisted on draping it over both of us. It seemed only natural. More natural than I was willing to admit. Falling asleep with him didn't implicate anything.

Right?


	7. Chapter 7

If you've never been in love, then you have no idea what it was like to wake up beside Tristan (Yeah, you read right; I _was_ in love with him. I just hadn't realized it yet. Rotten luck, I know).

"Morning," he whispered.

I yawned, laying my head on his side. "You make a nice pillow."

"You smell awful."

"Like you smell any better," I said, slapping him playfully.

Tristan flashed me a goofy grin.

I'd gotten used to eating less, but my stomach still ached and swirled with nausea. Just the taste of a sunflower seed was like heaven. Thanks to sponsors, we'd actually eaten soup the previous night. Of course, among my allies and me, it ran out after one meal. I was still concerned about Whitney, how little she ate. I hadn't seen her eat for at least forty-eight hours. But I never dared to say anything. She'd probably kill me if I did. Literally.

"We can't stay here forever," I told my allies. "We have to find a new headquarters, or the Gamemakers might not be so nice to us."

"Not necessarily," Tristan said.

"Well, I'm not one to take any chances," I snapped.

The others mulled it over, and they nodded at me in approval.

"Your girlfriend's right," Shawn said to Tristan.

Tristan shook his head. "Oh, she's not… we haven't…"

"We were only keeping warm," I offered, but it didn't conceal the blush that bloomed on my cheeks.

"Anyways… we'll migrate later in the day," Ryder said. "We should pair up again like yesterday. Mags, you get to go with Gemma today and hunt down tributes." He wasn't giving me a choice.

"I-" I almost protested. If I told them what I really thought, that would've been my death sentence. It's a price many tributes have already paid for defying their allies.

"Okay," I replied.

Whitney and Ryder stayed behind, while I left with Gemma, and Tristan left with Shawn to find food.

"More people are likely to be hiding in the city," Gemma said, "because it's easier to conceal themselves there. We'll start searching around here."

"That's perfect," I admitted. "I'm too exhausted to walk very far."

"Rumor has it that you're a master at making traps. Is it true?"

"Kind of…" Here came the part I dreaded most; where I'd lose pride in my knotting skills. Anything I made would catch more than just fish.

The first place Gemma and I entered looked to have been a pharmacy. Empty shelves, everywhere, and items tossed around; bottle lids and candy wrappers on the floor. We stopped at an aisle that used to hold beauty products. Capitol people would've had a field day here. I didn't mind wearing make- up on special occasions, like the interview and parade, but that aisle was so long. All of that space for beauty? Whatever happened to natural beauty?

Gemma noticed my disgust. "Yeah. Pathetic, I know. I'm as far from girly as you can get. That dress I wore at interviews? That was my only dress in ten years. I wore pants even at the reapings."

"You were allowed to wear them?"

"Weren't you?" she asked.

"No. Not at reapings."

Gemma chuckled, the only time I'd heard her laugh. "I'm glad I didn't live in District 4, then."

_Didn't, _not _don't. _She thought she wouldn't return home alive. Even as she held a knife, her fingers were twitching anxiously. I started wondering if Gemma trusted me at all.

Reluctantly, I put together a net and strung it between the shelves. I laid the final product out on the floor, where it waited for a victim to take into its clutches.

"Nice," Gemma said. "I can see why they gave you a 10."

"Thanks," I muttered.

_Crash. _

Somebody had knocked over a shelf. We couldn't see him or her, so Gemma and I took off to pace around the pharmacy. She or he kept avoiding us, whoever it was.

Suddenly, the tribute screamed, "Help me!"

"Oh, we'll help you, all right," Gemma muttered. To me, she said, "Sounds like we got one, Mags."

That mad, sadistic girl was right. A boy dangled inside my net, shaking with panic as we came towards him.

I looked at Gemma anxiously. She knew what I was trying to say: _Will you do it? _But she refused my plea.

"Your trap, your kill, Mags."

From my pocket, I drew a knife. Took steps in his direction. Both of us, terrified. Most people think killers aren't scared when they commit murder. They're dead wrong.

"I don't want to kill you," I told him softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

First, I cut him out of the net.

"I'll make it quick," I said. "Kneel down."

He obeyed me. I struck his throat, deep enough to cut off his air instantly, and so, he didn't suffer. The boy's cannon boomed.

To Gemma's disappointment, we didn't run into anybody else before we reunited with our allies. Tristan was clutching his side, wincing.

"Fought with the guy from District 7," he explained when I asked what had happened. "I think he broke a few of my ribs. Geez, this hurts. He had serious skills."

"You know," I said, "the hospital probably still has bandages somewhere."

"Yeah. Could you go look?"

"No problem, Tris."

I'd thought I would need a sponsor in order to get bandages for Tristan, but I managed to find some in a cupboard. Sometimes, the Gamemakers could actually be fair, I supposed.

"This is probably gonna hurt," I told Tristan.

"Can't be worse than the pain I'm in," he said. He grabbed the scuff of his shirt to pull it off and show me his injuries, but it just made him grunt.

"Let me. Raise your arms."

It was easy, helping Tristan out of his shirt. What wasn't easy? Seeing all the bruises on his chest.

"It's not so bad, actually," he said. "But I'm glad you're here- Not that I wanted you to be a tribute-"

"I know."

I don't remember what got into me next. My fingers brushed Tristan's bare chest, light as a feather. He didn't stop me. I didn't want to stop.

"Maggie…"

_Concentrate, Mags,_ I thought.

But at the same time: _Why can't we just be alone so we can figure out what this is? _ I wished the cameras would go away. How I managed to actually open the bandages and bind his ribs, I have no idea.

Talk about getting stuck in a moment.


End file.
